I had nothing to say to that so I resumed my needlepoint and we both worked in silence. After a while Celia announced she would pay Mrs. Wiggam a visit to see if her husband had departed yet. "Will you come?" she asked.
"Only if you need me. I think I'll go to George Culvert's house again. I have more questions about the demon that need answering."
It was only partly true. I did want to see George again, but not to look at his books.
***
I headed out after luncheon, dressed in a plain blue-gray dress with a matching jacket for warmth. Celia had wanted me to wear something prettier with more ruches and flounces and preferably in a brighter color, but I didn't want to stand out any more than I already did. Not where I was going. I also wanted some protection against the cold. The early spring day was overcast and the breeze sharp but once out of windy Druids Way, I could at least feel my cheeks again. Unfortunately I could also feel the smuts from the city's countless chimneys settling on my skin. That was one good thing about my street, the wind kept the air cleaner than most.
I expected Jacob to appear to ask where I was going but I made it all the way to George's house on my own. It would seem he didn't spend all of his time in the Waiting Area watching me and waiting to join me. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved by that or not.
The footman showed me into the Culvert's drawing room where George met me a few minutes later. He rushed in, all friendly smiles, his hands outstretched. "What a delightful surprise," he said, taking my hands in his. "Absolutely delightful. I was hoping you would return, Emily."
"Oh?"
He indicated I should sit then followed suit, occupying the chair opposite. "Yes, I, er, wanted to, um, see you again to...find out if you'd made any progress with capturing the demon."
His explanation, with all those hesitations, didn't ring entirely true. Did he want to say something else? I couldn't think what. "It killed someone last night," I said. I saw no point in keeping the information from him.
His face drained of color. "Wh...what?"
"It attacked a drunk servant on his night off." I repeated everything Jacob had told me about the two victims and the subsequent burglary, which amounted to very little.
Although the color returned to George's face as I spoke, his forehead crinkled into a more thorough frown. "How terrible," he murmured. "Utterly despicable. We must do something."